


Have you seen my perfect stranger?

by Spn_Life_2005 (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Raised Separately, Drunk Dean Winchester, Drunk Sex, F/M, Hook-Up, Law Student Sam, Lawyer Sam, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Separate Childhoods, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Wincest - Freeform, they dont know theyre brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 19:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Spn_Life_2005
Summary: Sam wesson is a twenty four year old Stanford law graduate who is a criminal prosecutor and is marrying rich girl Jessica Moore in six months. But he's having doubts, and who is the man with big green eyes who keeps appearing in his dreams and in his life? Dean winchester spies on his baby brother at Stanford. Sam Wesson was adopted at four years old and has no memory of his past. Raised separately, will Sam's obsession in finding out who his perfect stranger is bring them together?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, these events never occurred (sadly) and all rights to owner, writer and publisher.  
> Supernatural.  
> The CW  
> And Eric Kripke

THREE BLOCKS FROM THE CREAM BRICK PALACE OF PALO ALTO STANFORD UNIVERSITY, Sam Wesson opened the front door of his apartment, unceremoniously threw his overcoat on the stainless steel coat rack that curved artfully near his front door, and went straight to the fridge. Beer in hand he flopped down on the faux-leather couch in his living room. His eyes quickly skimmed the living room as he popped the cap and took a drink letting the bittersweet liquid stand in his mouth and then swallowed. The muscles of his square jaw tensed and then relaxed. The nagging prickles of doubt slowly drained away, but they would reappear; they always did. Another important dinner party with Jessica, his soon-to-be wife, and her family and circle of friends along with social and business acquaintances. The acquaintances group was rounded out by the ubiquitous lawyers of which Sam was now one, and her closest group of friends, Brady, Rebecca and Sandy who appeared to be all dimples and long dark hair when in reality - Sam had learned - she was really not. She found about seven different ways to threaten Sam before the appetizer and by that time he wasn't really all that hungry anymore. The Moore family was really welcoming, calling him son and holding his hand though grace, he really felt comfortable at the time. But not loved, he noted.

He finished his beer and switched on the TV. His shoes came off, and the Calvin- something socks his fiancée had bought for him were carelessly flung over the couch's armrest. She had him all pampered and well groomed, and pretty soon he'd probably be on the cover of one of those "Most well kept men" magazines for gods sakes - not that he minded - but a far away memory of a long lost childhood danced across his mind but disappeared far too quickly for him to grasp onto it and remember. Rubbing his toes, he seriously considered a second beer. The TV tried but failed miserably to hold his interest. He pushed his thick, dark hair out of his eyes and focused for the thousandth time on where his life was heading, seemingly with the speed of an out of control space shuttle.

Jessica’s father was a wealthy man, who owned a large company, all suits and ties, half a million dollar mansions and perfectly cut almost impossibly green looking lawns. Sam wasn't complaining, it was all he had ever really wanted, but something just ticked him, like something was out of place. Mr. Moore's company limo had driven the two of them to one of his many properties, the San Antonio townhouse where Sam and Jess would probably move after the wedding; he detested Sam's place, and Jess never disagreed with her father. The wedding was barely six months off, apparently no time at all by a bride’s standards, and he was sitting here having severe second thoughts.

Jessica Ryce Moore possessed instant head-turning beauty to such a degree that the women turned heads as often as the men. She was also smart and accomplished, came from serious money and was intent on marrying Sam. Her father ran one of the largest development companies in the country. Shopping centers, office buildings, radio stations, entire subdivisions, you name it, he was in it, and doing better than just about anyone else. Her paternal great-grandfather was one of the original Midwest manufacturing tycoons, and her mother’s family had once owned a large chunk of downtown Boston. The gods had smiled early and often on Jessica Moore. There wasn’t one guy Sam knew who wasn’t jealous as hell of him.

He squirmed in his chair and tried to rub a kink out of his shoulder. He hadn’t worked out in a week. His six-foot-three body, at twenty-four, had the new hard edge it had fought for in high school where he was a lanky boy among essentially grown men. In college where the competition was a lot rougher but as he began packing more muscle and height -if that was even possible – but he managed to make the basketball team – because of his height nonetheless – and had grown relatively strong in comparison to the child that had entered Stanford at eighteen. The combination of every AP class possibly given in four years of high school, impeccable 4.2 GPA and a beautiful straight A record since the 3rd grade had gotten him into the Stanford law school, one of the best universities around where he made Law Review, graduated top of his class and promptly settled down as a criminal prosecutor in the District of Alameda criminal justice system.

His classmates had all grabbed the big-firm option out of law school. They had routinely called with phone numbers of psychiatrists who could help coax him out of his insanity. He smiled and then went and grabbed that second beer. The fridge was now empty.

Sam's first year as a PD had been rough as he learned the ropes, losing more than he won. As time went on, he graduated to the more serious crimes. And as he poured every ounce of youthful energy, raw talent and common sense he had into each of those cases, the tide began to turn.

And then he started kicking some serious ass in court.

He discovered he was a natural at the role, as talented at cross examination as he had been at throwing men much bigger than he across a two-inch-thick mat. He was respected, liked as an attorney if you could believe that.

He and Jessica had met during the first few years of law school, she was going to be crowned vice president of development and marketing at Moore Enterprises as soon as she graduated college, but she didn’t want all the attention and being ‘daddy’s pampered princess as she so called it, hence running off to Stanford and straight into Sam’s arms. Dynamic yet sweet in presence, she had the added skill of making whomever she was talking to feel valued; their opinions were listened to if not necessarily followed. She was a beauty who had no need to rely solely on that asset.

When you got past the eye-catching looks, there was a lot more there. Or seemed to be. Sam would have been less than human had he not been attracted to her. And she had made it clear, early on, that the attraction was mutual. While being ostensibly impressed at his dedication in defending the rights of the victims and wanting to prosecute with zeal those who broke the law, little by little Jessica had convinced Sam that he had done more than enough to prosecute, incarcerate and essentially destroy the lives of those dedicated to harm others, and that maybe he should start thinking about himself and his future, and that maybe she wanted to be a part of that future. When he finally left PD after one awkward yet enlightening year, the US. attorney’s office had brought him in and given him purpose, you broke the law, the law broke you.

He turned off the TV, grabbed a bag of pita chips and went to his bedroom, crossing the hallway in three long strides. He couldn’t blame Jessica’s father for not liking his place; it was miniscule, Sam was a relatively clean guy, everything was in order, perfectly spotless and not a race of dust even on the highest shelf. He was never a slob. But what bothered him was the dead certainty that, even spotless, Jessica’s father would not give her consent to live here. For one thing it was in the wrong neighborhood; Professorville to be sure, but not a gentrified part of Professorville, actually not even close.

Then there was the size. Her townhouse must have run eight thousand square feet, not counting the live-in maid’s quarters and the two-car garage that housed her Jag and brand new Porche sitting in the front

He had four rooms if you counted the bathroom. He reached his bedroom, stripped off his clothes and dropped into bed. Across the room, on a small plaque that had once hung in his office at work until he had grown embarrassed looking at it, was the announcement of his joining Jones Day – that according to Day himself was soon to become Jones Day & Wesson. It was Palo Alto’s number-one corporate firm. Legal caterer to hundreds of blue-chip companies, including his soon-to-be father-in-law’s, representing a multimillion-dollar account that he was credited with bringing to the firm and that, in turn, guaranteed him a partnership at the next review. Partnerships at Jones Day were worth, on average, at least half a million dollars a year. That was tip money for the Moore’s but then he wasn’t a Moore. At least not yet.

He pulled the blanket over him. The building’s insulation left a lot to be desired. He popped a couple of aspirin and washed them down with the rest of a Coke that was sitting on his nightstand, then looked around the cramped bedroom. It reminded him of his room growing up. It was a cold empty memory, one that was always dark, confined and smelled of bleached sheets. He didn’t know where that came from, random spurts of memory just came and went, after all he was only four when he was adopted. The official story was that his birth father was a negligent drunk who’s wife had died and he took out his rage on his son ending in psychosis and leaving him in a paid for motel room to starve, when the maid found him he was two days shy of perishing and social services took him in. Sam didn’t know anything of the man, and never bothered with it either, he sounded like such a horrible person, which was exactly why Sam had put his life’s work to put people like him behind bars. Who would possibly have the heart to hurt an innocent child and leave them to die in a grimy motel room?

That was the Other thing with Jessica: she had made it clear that the sound of little feet was a distant project that was far from certain. Her career at her father’s company was once the most dreaded thing she ever put thought to, that was one of the things Sam found fascinating about her, her willingness to rebel and have a mind of her own. He loved it. But now? The company came first and foremost in her mind and heart - maybe more so, Sam felt, than he was.

He rolled over and tried to close his eyes. The wind pushed against the window and he glanced in that direction. He looked away, but then with a resigned air, his eyes drifted back over to the box. It held part of his collection of old trophies and awards from high school and college. But those items were not the object of his focus. In the semidarkness he reached out a long arm for the framed photo, decided against it, and then changed his mind again.

He pulled it out. This had almost become a ritual. He never had to worry about his fiancée stumbling onto this particular possession of his because she absolutely refused to enter his bedroom for longer than a minute – thanks to Mr. Moore on that one -. Whenever they slid between the sheets it was either at her place, where Sam would lie on the bed staring up at the twelve-foot ceiling where a mural of ancient horsemen and young maidens shared space while Jessica amused herself until she collapsed and then rolled over for him to finish on top of her. Or at her parents’ place in the country where the ceilings were even higher and the murals had been taken from some thirteenth-century church in Rome, all of which made Sam feel that God was watching him being ridden by the beautiful and absolutely naked Jessica Ryce Moore and that he would languish in eternal hell for those few moments of visceral pleasure.

The man in the photo had silky golden brown hair that spiked up on his head like strands of pure gold. His face was set on a soft frown but his lip curled up slightly to the left expressing a hundred emotions in those big green eyes and Sam loved reading them over and over again. Surprised, caught, worried, relieved, happy, startled, fear, and finally one last thing Sam was never able to place. The perfect stranger. That was who he was, Sam had seen those eyes a hundred times in his dreams and nightmares, he remembers those freckles like they were mapped out on a painting, scattered evenly sitting on high cheekbones and a jaw of steel.  
Sam never met him, never asked his name -not that he could in the fleeting moments he actually managed to see him- it was like he could feel the eyes, searing hot trained on his back, like he was physically pulled back by a thousand ropes to turn around. Three. That is the exact number of times he actually saw him, live and in the flesh. But he knew the man had seen him many many more times. Sometimes he just knows, his heart starts beating faster, his muscles go impossibly still and he just knows. But when he turns around he’s always gone.  
At first Sam thought he was crazy, sometimes in the middle of the night he would wake up and if it wasn’t for his sleep mussed brain, he could have sworn he saw someone standing by the window. He snapped the picture one summer afternoon when he and Jess were just exiting the Stanford library, he had his camera already on his face as he exited the mahogany doors and there, right in front of him was the man, standing in his six foot something glory in a leather jacket and worn out jeans.  
Thankfully all he managed to do at the moment was click the button that was already on the shutter, but as soon as he brought the camera away from his face, he’d bolted. Gone, just like that, as if he were some sort of optical illusion. He closed his gaping mouth and scrambled to see if he had gotten the image or if he needed a psychiatrist. And there it was, the undoubted evidence of the man in his dreams, the one that haunted him but protected him all the same. He spent the rest of the day smiling like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, and no matter how many times Jess asked “What?!” he stayed tight lipped and smiling.  
His hand instinctively traced the curves of his lopsided half smile. The almond-shaped cheekbones bordered a strong bridged nose that sloped toward a pair of plush and almost perfect lips. Sam moved back up the face and stopped at the large rounded eyes that seemed full of saddened happiness.  
Sam rolled back over and lay the photo on his chest so that he stared directly at him. Lying there with the man staring at him with a smile that told him a million things that he had never learned from the woman he was supposed to marry in six months, Sam wondered if he would remain a stranger to him forever; whether his life was destined to become far more complicated than he ever intended.  
Sam put the picture away and imagined what he was doing right that very minute. After no possible answer came from wracking his brain, Sam finally put out the light and closed his eyes with the knowledge that another tomorrow was close upon him. His pot of gold, his once-in-a-lifetime payoff, was one day closer to reality. It did not make for easy sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's dealing with his feelings and his situation after Sam takes his picture accidentally, risking to find his identity and expose himself to a world of terror, does Dean do anything to stop it or does he run away?

SIX HUNDRED MILES FROM WHERE HIS MIND AND HEART LONGED TO BE

     Dean Winchester. sat in his 67' Chevrolet Impala, 3,500 pounds of black shiny steel on wheels as Metallica blasted through the stereo system in an attempt to drown out the frantic and panicked thoughts going around in his head.

  
Perhaps he needed a drink. Or seven.

  
     He wasn't supposed to have been able to spot him, he shouldn't have been there period. He sighed hastily while threading calloused fingers through his hair in frustration. He was driving nowhere in particular, anger, fear and panic gripped the steering wheel and pushed him as far away from Palo Alto as he could get. Going about twenty miles above the speed limit he glanced up out of his daze and spotted a sign, probably heaven sent, who knows?

' _Trixxxie's Suits & Stilettos_ 10 miles up ahead ' it read in big red calligraphy letters, barely visible but lit by the Impala's headlights.

"Good job Baby, good job." he muttered caressing the dashboard affectionately.

That was just what he needed right now, a couple drinks and a good hard fuck. He wondered how John was doing, more out of desperation to get Sam out of his head than actual concern. The last time Dean saw the man he was a mess, drunk as always, babbling incoherently about the same four things over and over again, how much he missed Mary, how sorry he was about Sam, how he had to kill the sonofabitch who killed his late wife, and Dean.

  
Oh how he loved to talk about that, especially how disappointed he was in him. That man never had a kind word for him, despite his best efforts, and his best efforts would have floored about every person and thing he had ever met including demons. Even they were often shocked at his deathly accuracy and perception. But its like John didn't even notice, he glossed over all the good and had some serious eye for every mistake - not that there were many - Dean ever made. So yeah, you could say he wasn't particularly fond of how he was doing. Dean once had adoration for his father, his hero, the man deserved all of his respects, and in his eyes he was worthy of anything and everything.

Until they took Sam.

That was the day his respect turned into resentment. That resentment turned into hate and so forth. Every time he visited Stanford and saw Sammy's perfect life, it made it all worth it. Not reaching out to him every time he was within arms reach, sometimes so close he could taste it, not bringing him back into the family business, being lonely for so damn long under the harsh lifestyle of his father was all so worth it. Because Sammy was so damn happy, he had his girl, his little home decorated with memories Dean had never been able to be a part of, the perfect picket-fence life he deserved, the one every hunter wanted.  So Dean was happy for his baby brother, but sometimes it made him sad. How he never really got to know him, because no - no matter how many times Dean secretly broke into his apartment and looked through his picture albums - he would never really know him.

 They grew up in separate worlds, Dean belonged to one Sam never even knew existed, and Dean was willing to bet that if he did, he would run, and in the process shut Dean out of his life. And he couldn't handle that, not in a million years. He could stand the fact Sam didn't know him, because he knew that if he did, if he just knew who Dean was, what he had done. He would be afraid, he would run, hate him. Like this he could keep tabs on him, make sure he was okay, make sure he was safe, he placed protection around his apartment for insurance. He had lifted his carpet under the bed and spray painted a devil's trap under it.  He had filled plastic  tubes of salt under every window and above each door, prying off the door frame placing the tubes and nailing them back in place. He even went so far as to create an iron duplicate of his bedroom door handle and replaced it - you know, just in case. -

The work was flawless, and each time Dean chuckled at Sam's ignorance. He never noticed the small additions around the house or the barely-there sigils carved in random places. But the boy had some sort of compass when Dean was around, and really; It made his heart skip a beat how he just knew he was around. Every time Dean was within twenty feet of the kid he turned around. Dean knew it wasn't just because he was being stared at, because damn if that boy wasn't absolutely oblivious to every prying eye that was constantly glued onto him. Men as often as women turned heads wherever he went, like he was some kind of hot magnet without even knowing it - and Dean sure knew it - His baby brother had some good genes in him, and sometimes he caught himself staring. Hell even Sam himself caught Dean staring.

\- So much for not thinking of Sam - he thought to himself as he pulled into the parking lot of 'Trixxxies' with three x's he rolled his eyes.

' Here's to another mindless fuck' he thought before climbing out of the car. This kind of thing had become habit to him. Drink, fuck, forget all of your problems -or at least try to- and get back on the road.

No ties, just lies was his motto.

Dean got along with guys and girls, didn't mind who it was as long as he was the one that got to do the fucking itself. He had tried bottoming once, in that eventful occasion he had discovered it was not for him. So he went to places like this, shady dives with neon lights and people - tits or no tits - on poles. Found some tall, dark-haired twink with slanted eyes and a good strong jaw and split them open on the hood of the Impala. It was never sweet with those, it was rough, quick and over with in a span of thirty minutes. Other times, he found the complete opposite. Some curvy short blonde with a rack the size of Texas and a pretty mouth. Those times he was slow and took his sweet time in the back of his baby tracing designs on their skin making sure to leave plenty of marks while he thrusted with burning passion.

This wasn't one of those times.

As he entered the club, two grown men with shoulder spans about the size of his but bigger greeted him at the entrance asking for identification. As he flashed them the card and they opened the doors his eyes went straight to the prize and locked onto it. There he was, the perfect stranger, some tall ass, scrawny, shaggy haired, blue eyed twink leaning against the bar, his back to the bartender facing the crowd who was now whooping and cheering for the girl in 7 inch stiletto's stripping her bra clinging onto the pole upside down. And yeah, that was pretty impressive. As he slowly made his way down to the bar and slid onto one of the stools he raised his hand ordering a couple beers and stealing a couple subtle glances to what he assumed must be tonight's five star show -as advertised on the front door - and the boy not too far from him across the bar Snagging his beer from the counter he decided to lean back and enjoy the show, after all he wanted to be shitfaced drunk by the time he had Ken doll over there, and that was going to take a while.

 Five beers, Seven shots and two Purple Nurple's later, he had the kid pinned to the brick wall outside in the alley. Kissing along the sharp jaw to the kid's ear he wondered what his name was again. 'Sven? Stan?' - Yeah he was really drunk- he thought as his right hand made its way down to cup the obvious bulge in the boy's pants. A fleeting thought left him wondering whether the kid was even legal or not, but that thought vaporized as soon as he managed to get the zipper out of the way and into his boxers. The kid was leaking like a faucet and God if that didn't turn him on even more.

He had the boy out of his pants, stripping his shirt and spinning around before the kid even knew what was happening, but the little moans and grunts he was getting in return told him that he did. In ten seconds flat he had his dick out readying himself and slipping on the condom. He never bothered with stretching, it was too intimate, took too long, wasn't his problem. As he pushed past the first rim he could feel the dry heat tightening around him, but he didn't stop, slow but steady he kept going in, inch by inch. When he bottomed out, they both let out loud moans, pulling back and thrusting back in with more force, more velocity. It all went uphill from there. Every thrust was met by the boy's hips, the loud slapping sound of skin echoed off the walls at a sledgehammer pace until the boy came, clenching viciously around his dick. As the kid clung on, convulsing with the aftershocks Dean couldn't help but wonder why he was here, what was he doing?

It was all Sam's fault. Sam and his stupid camera with his stupid fiance stupid perfect lips with those stupid arms with the stupid fucking six pack he liked to flaunt like a fucking stud. 

And suddenly Dean found himself almost blacking out with the power of his orgasm, hitting him like a freight train so hard he actually stumbled back, slipping out to grab onto the wall with one arm. 'What the fuck was that?' he wondered, confusion turning into fear, turning into panic. He zipped himself up without sparing a glance back to the boy who had slipped down the wall and tucked against the wall.

As he got back into his car and peeled out of the parking he found tears welling up in his eyes. 'Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? Why couldn't he and Sam just have been together like normal brothers? Gotten a chance to know each other and not be tip toeing around like the actual strangers they were? Why was he having thoughts about his brother- _Brother for fucks sake!_ He pulled over to the side of the road on an empty road in the middle of nowhere in Buttfuck Arizona, clearly not sober enough to be driving.

Wiping the tears that had made their way down his cheeks he sent one last curse to whoever was up above there giving orders before passing out.


	3. Chapter 3

SAM WOKE UP TO FURIOUS BANGING ON HIS DOOR AND A SERIOUS CASE OF CONFUSION TO COME ALONG WITH IT.

He had fallen asleep exactly how he'd laid down to sleep last night, sprawled diagonally across his mattress, legs hanging off one side of the bed and his neck dangling precariously on the other. As he scrambled to get up, he glanced at the clock sitting quietly on his nightstand. -7:23 am- "Fuck." He'd forgotten to set the alarm last night and had forgotten even more about Jess. "Fuck again, Jess."

  
Shoving the photograph that had laid on his chest all night under the covers in a feeble attempt to cover up his disaster he sat on the bed, tugging his sweatpants on and ridding himself of any evidence that would prove him guilty of having forgotten today's appointment. His mind slowly counted down to the inevitable, and there it was. The banging had stopped, and something was being inserted into the lock. "That lying little-" He glared furiously at the door as it creaked open.

  
Jessica's angry/worried face turned quickly into one of shock, and then red with embarrassment.

  
"You said you didn't have a key." Sam said glaring at the hand that was still holding the offending object in the lock.

  
"I- I thought.. you. I-" she stuttered weakly trying to pull the key out of the lock with shaking hands.

"I knew it" he said, crossing the apartment in three long strides "You totally lied to me Jess" he said as he stood menacingly over the blonde haired girl.

  
Jessica was a very jealous girl, she liked what was hers to stay that way, and when she declined Sam offering her a key to his apartment the first time, he knew she already had to have one. During college, they shared a dorm, and to be honest, Sam really enjoyed it, he figured that once they both graduated, they would pull all of their savings together and maybe buy a house. And then daddy had swooped in and bought his little girl a two-story house with five bedrooms and six bathrooms, a basement, study room and a pool house in the back, smack in the center of San Francisco. She was allowed to stay there as long as she wanted for free, without interest, as long as she lived there alone. When Sam had confusedly asked as to why he couldn't share the house with her, he simply responded with: "You're not married"

  
And to be honest, Sam thought that was just complete and utter Bull. Because as much as Sam respected whatever it was Jess's family believed in, he also knew their little girl was no saint either. She definitely wasn't a virgin -Sam had made sure of that - and she sure as hell wasn't vanilla either. Honestly! What did they think she'd been doing when she chose to share an apartment with her boyfriend? Cuddle? Cause that sure wasn't what had happened. As soon as they finished signing the damn contracts that girl had -in every sense of the word- jumped him. She was so possessive too, every damn time she thought anyone -and I mean anyone- was checking him out, she would either stare at them viciously with the 'Touch him and I'll kill you' look, or wrapped every possible limb and orifice around him. So yeah, she definitely had to have had a key, he just didn't understand why she had to lie to him about it.

  
"I- I.. uh" she continued stuttering, not being able to grasp onto an actual reason for which she had the key to her fiance's apartment when she had determinedly denied one because "Daddy says we should wait" or "I don't really need one Sam"

  
"Its okay, I'm the one that offered you the damn thing in the first place, I just don't understand why you had to lie to me about it." He explained, calmly reaching out to pull the key out of the lock and handing it over to Jessica's now sweating palms.

  
"Y- you knew?!" she almost squeaked

" Jess.." he sighed " You are singlehandedly the most jealous person I have ever met. Of course I knew." he chuckled softly, leaning over to kiss her forehead. She softly melted into his warmth and tilted her face up to catch his lips in a soft kiss, gently scrunching her nose and pulling away.

"You didn't brush your teeth. Which reminds me..." She started, and then it began. She had forgotten all about her embarrassment and was back on track with the initial fury she stormed into his apartment with in the first place. He softly tuned out the entire speech of " You should have been ready" and "its almost _Eight_ Sam!" with a side of "What were you even doing!? You better not've had someone over here last night Sam Wesson!"  and went on his way to brush his teeth with a smile on his face, God she was annoying, but he loved her so.

 

ooOoo

TWO MILES INTO AN EMPTY FIELD UNDER POURING RAIN, SURROUNDED BY A THICKET OF TREES, THE IMPALA DROWNED OUT THE SOUNDS of the hellfire storm going on outside as Dean slept soundly inside it. He managed to wake up right about the fifth time the annoying little vibration under his ribs shook his lungs and disturbed him once again. As he peeled his eyelids open and managed to rub the grittiness out of his eyes, he pulled his phone out of his leather jacket and peeked inside. - 8 _Missed calls and 6 voice mails from: Bobby -_

"Fuck." he grunted as he clicked back to listen to his voicemails " _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. "  
_

_"Dean it's Bobby, call me back"_

_"Dean. Its Bobby boy. Get off your ass and call me"_

_"Dean! Now ain't the time to be an irresponsible lil shit call me."_

_"I swear son. Somethin' better've killed you to not be answerin' m'damn calls"_

Dean snorted, he loved it when Bobby got riled up, it brought on that heavy accent and cursed enough to make a sailor blush, but the next message didn't have the preppy tone the others had, and it wiped the smile clean off Dean's face.

_"De- Dean i- it's 'bout your dad kiddo, call me back. please?"_

_(1 unread message)  
_ there it was, mocking him. The one message that could probably tell him this was it, his father was gone.

But he chose to ignore it, and maybe he would listen to it and laugh at his worries later, or maybe he'd listen to it and cry one last time.

As the phone rang, his mind couldn't help but wander, what would he do if John died? Sure he despised the man, but it was the only family he had. There was Bobby, but as much as Dean loved him, he couldn't possibly burden the man with all his troubles, he already had much of his own. Besides, Bobby was a stay-at-home hunter, Dean couldn't stay in one place for three months if he tried. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to hunt side by side next to Sam, and really, it would have been so amazing. Sam standing there in all of his six-foot-four glory of strong muscles and tanned skin, gun sitting in perfectly long calloused fingers curling around the barrel. His lean features with that certain bulk that made him look even bigger, strong jaw and hazel eyes focused on the hunt, strong defined legs carrying him in deathly silence afte-

" _Dean?"_

_"Bobby?" Dean almost squeaked_

_"Boy Where have you been? I have been Calling you for HOURS." Bobby complained through the phone_

_"I know I know Bobby, I'm sorry, I was um.. busy, it wont happen again, scout's honor."_

_"you aint even no damn scout" Bobby muttered under his breath, emitting a chuckle from Dean. "Get your ass over to my place as soon as possible. Got that?"_

_"Yes sir, but w- you called y- you said this was about dad?" Dean questioned hesitantly_

_"Just get over here son"_

_"Be right there."_

As he hung up, he let out a shuddering breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he fixed his pants around his erection, and blamed it on morning wood and not the fact that he could have cut through diamonds with the thought of Sam's long fingers and fox eyes alone. He had more pressing matters at hand however, dad was in trouble. Serious trouble. Bobby never called. Ever. Thinking back to it, he hadn't even called when John almost got killed by that hell hound in Detroit, the one that gave him a thirteen inch scar that traveled from the very top of his left shoulder, across his chest and almost to his right hip diagonally. Bobby swore that one millimeter deeper - just one- and John was as good as gone. Even then, Dean came to hear about it only months later when he saw the scar for himself on a hunt, and even then he had to interrogate the man just to get the first word out of him. So with that, you could just imagine what the hell could have happened for Bobby to call Dean. Gosh he so didn't want to know.

Rubbing his face with both hands he turned on the engine and his baby roared to life. It was time to face his fears -huh how ironic-


	4. Chapter 4

AFTER FLITTING THROUGH ANOTHER HUNDRED BLACK TIES THAT LOOKED EXACTLY THE SAME, ALONG WITH A TAILOR THAT INSISTED ON FOLLOWING HIM AROUND WITH A MEASURING TAPE, Sam was done.

"I- I need to- stop that plea- okay stop- i have-" Sam had been putting up with tuxedo measuring, tube sock testing and long sleeved dress shirts of a couple hundred different materials that were just -that- much tighter every single time he tried them on, for about an hour and a half now, and to be purely honest, he couldn't breathe. Something that he was sure were either sweat or tears were dripping down his neck, settling uncomfortably on his collarbone, and if he didn't get that Armani vest off _right_ this second, somebody's blood would be dripping on the floor - okay maybe he was overreacting just a little -

Not managing to stop the dresser from buttoning every single disk up to his Adam's apple, he finally batted his hands away and stormed out of the fitting room and out the doors of _Moda Mia Tuxedo's_ , one of the most high-end tuxedo rental places Jess' father could find in California, and of course the budget priced wedding in Nevada with -only- their closest friends Jess and he had planned was out the window ever since the Moore's walked into their lives controlling and adjusting every aspect of their lives and future. Sam was beginning to think this entire situation was gyrating out of control, honestly.

In the midst of his half-panic attack he peripherally recognized he might be making a fool of himself in front of Jess and her family, but at this point he really didn't care. Sam had always been a relatively patient and understanding person, he did well under pressure and could handle situations most people wouldn't even fathom - one of the reasons Stanford had decided to take him in without too much thought. - Even as a child, when Jack and Sherry would do things that would make any other child bicker and scream, Sam understood, learned, and went along peacefully with most of their teachings, - That was until high school of course, but that is definitely a story for another day-

But Sam learned to keep his thoughts to himself and not take impulsive or spontaneous descisions - much like the one he was taking now- All in all, he wasn't one to argue and disagree with situations, especially when people he loved were involved, and that was probably why Jess was staring at him like he had grown a second head but right now, he apparently had a decision to make and some questions to ask. - after taking a damned breath first of course- .

As he stormed out through the abnormally heavy glass doors that now appeared to be weightless in face of his frustration, Sam heard the clerk, the tailor, and the modista yelling at him for breaching the store's perimeters with unpurchased product along with Jess frantically trying to assure them he wasn't _actually_ stealing anything and trying to get them not to call the police, along with Mr. Moore irritatedly saying something to his wife along the lines of 'I knew something like this would happen' and 'can't handle pressure or commitment'

Stopping somewhere around five feet of the store's entrance, he gripped onto the nearest wall and took a deep breath, counting down the seconds it would take Jess to finish apologising to the employees and come kill him -not before yelling his ear off of course- and three.. _two_...

"THERE YOU ARE!" One.

"Sam what the hell?!" Here we go.

"My family is in there Sam you can't just- You're wearing clothes you haven't paid for Sam! _Ten thousand dollar clothes you haven't paid for_!"

"AND NEVER WILL" he finally whipped around to face her, immediately feeling bad and embarrassed for yelling at her, something he hadn't done until now. Her pale face reciprocating the surprise and fear - _fear, something she should never. Ever. feel for Sam_ \- she had felt, a red rising in her cheeks as her eyes began to gloss slightly.

"Sam-" her voice broke and her eyes flickered to the ground. _Fuck_ , he hated seeing her broken like that, and it had never been because of him.

"Jess I'm so- " he stretched out a hand out to her but she visibly flinched so he drew his hand back swiping in roughly over his mouth in frustration. _God_ , this day was turning out to be such a disaster.

"I'm so sorry, I- I don't know what's going on okay? It- It's just so hard I don't-" he tried explaining,

"So hard?!" She yelled, head snapping up, tear filled eyes locking onto his reddening guilty ones. "This is hard for you Sam? Being with me? Doing this for me? Being around my family? Is that what's hard for you Sam? All I ask of you is to participate, to just do what you're supposed to! You don't even have to pay for the goddamned wedding Sam! Y-"

"Exactly! Exactly Jess, I don't have to pay for the wedding, I'm not the one taking care of who is going to our wedding, I'm not the one even worrying about our honeymoon Jess! I just have to do what I'm told, wear the suit Sam, don't eat that Sam, stand there looking pretty and we'll do the rest for you Sam! How can you not see what's going on Jess!?" His every instinct told him to run, just turn around and leave, and it'll all be over, but he stayed, he had to get this over with, and he really couldn't afford to make a fool of himself even more than he already had in front of Jess

"Is that what you're worried about?" She asked incredulously " Not being in charge of things? Not being able to control everything Sam?" She scoffed " I can't believe you! You're so- so- Ungrateful! My family comes all the way from the other side of the states, DC Sam DC! and offer to help out with the monetary situation -Which in case you have forgotten, we aren't even very good in, - and you're having a fit because you're not in charge? _What is it Sam? Does it affect your masculinity in any way Sam?_! Tell me! Because I don't understand!"

Now there were tears in his eyes, he couldn't believe this is how far they've come, throwing insults at each other mindlessly, just hurting each other because they were under pressure, this was nothing like them! But to be honest this wasn't anything like the Jessica he had met before either so-

"It's not about masculinity, or being in charge Jess, it's about how it's changing us! What happened to the small budget wedding in Nevada with only our closest friends? What happened to running away from the world, and living only with what we need?" He cried

"Those are children's dreams Sam! Grow up! We live in a world where it's kill or be killed, you don't have money, you're nobody! Get your head out of your ass and look around you!" She yelled waving her arms like a crazy person.

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing, this wasn't Jess anymore, not his Jess, and those words were her father's. "What happened to the Jess I used to know?" He mumbled, eyeing her like he couldn't believe what she'd become.

"She grew up Sam, and you should too." She said placing both hands on her hips and immediately shooting one up being her " now go back in there, take that stupid vest off and apologise to my parents right now! " she scolded, and Sam felt like a little kid again being told what to do.

As he quietly padded back inside, head hung in shame, he wondered how his life was going to be after marrying Jess, if she was this vicious and now, what was he going to do in the future? His mind flickered back to the beautiful green eyed man, and he wondered what kind of person he was, was he vicious and possessive like Jess, or instead the opposite, sweet, caring and compassionate. Physically shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he shamefully sneaked back into the fitting room, he had a vest to return and an apology to deliver.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Tale of Past Suicide Attempt !Not Sam or Dean!   
> Disclaimer: Marielle's story comes from one of Danielle Steel's books : Vanished, the ending and the story is a bit different but all of the characters are hers, so credit to owner.  
> And on a more personal note: I am so sorry.

TWELVE HOURS AND THIRTEEN MINUTES, EIGHT HUNDRED AND NINETEEN MILES FROM WHERE THE TUG IN HIS HEART TOLD HIM TO BE, DEAN WAS HALFWAY TO SOUTH DAKOTA.

Bobby's house was an entire day's drive from Palo Alto, a good twenty four hours the GPS said, "hah" Dean scoffed, " _Bet I can make it in half that time_ " he said, flicking the machine, he never really trusted technology, it wasn't made to fit in a life like his, but honestly, with the pace he'd been keeping up since that morning, he might not actually get there as quick as he'd hoped. In total he had stopped three times on the way to Bobby's, the first was to throw up all of the beer he had drunk the night before, and fill up his Baby. The second was to stuff his face with a greasy burger for the hangover and some home made pecan pie for the gluttony, it all tasted the same at another run down diner along the side of the highway, that had the same sticky plastic menu to go along with the equally disgustingly adhesive tabletop, the same red booths that sunk almost halfway in every single time he sat in them, the same stench of rancid cooking oil and the same shameless waitress in her twenties that pretended to be shy and giggly but scribbled her number on the napkin dotting her i's with hearts at every single one of them, almost all of them looked the same too, long blonde hair, a push up bra that made sure their chin touched the top of their breasts when they looked down to take notes, _Candy, Sandy, Patty_ , something like that.

They all had the same curves in all the same places, and Dean never grew tired of it - at least that was what he told himself- because God help him if he ever did, he didn't have any other option, it's not like he had all the money in the world. Never did. Living off run down motels and diners that all looked the same, was his life, he couldn't afford much else, his only possession was the Impala, his one true home, where he was raised, but if he ever had to give her up, he probably would. He had nothing, was no one, but with a number of lives he'd saved, he should be loved and praised by the entire world. Of course, it's not like he'd ever believe that. After all, no one hated Dean Winchester more than himself.

The third time he stopped was to take a well-deserved nap in the backseat of his baby, and a very necessary leak that had been burning for half an hour too. Without anyone to talk to or even change driving shifts with, Dean got tired of being on the road alone pretty quickly. Dad used to go with him on hunts and they used to talk over the sound of Led Zeppelin blasting on the radio for hours, but he stopped going with him around the same time Sam began going to college. Dean supposes he felt some kind of embarrassment that in order to have a _decent_ life you had to be taken by the government, but John had always assured him that he wasn't missing out on anything.

"Just a big bunch of assholes telling you the world spins around the sun Dean, you don't need to go to college to know that shit" he used to say, and it used to make him feel better, probably cause he believed it, at the time. But as soon as Sam picked up and left his perfect family to go and turn into a 'big boy' in college, it was almost as if it was a confirmation for John to make Dean do the same, as if that's what normal people did, then so should he, _God_ his father was so stupid.

John stopped hunting with him the same week, something about finding the demon that killed Mary, his ever-living obsession and it being really dangerous for both of them. But instead of taking his firstborn son, the one he had carved and raised to be the deadliest killing machine there was and nothing less, with him to kill the son of a bitch not only he had hunted all of his life -so had Dean- in case he had forgotten, he dropped off the face of the earth. Completely vanished, just like that. No explanation, no nothing. Not even a goddamned 'Take care of yourself son' and Dean's resentment towards the man just flourished like a freaking sunflower, as well as his obsession with Sam - _he had nothing better to do okay?_ -

Back when Sam was at Stanford, Dean almost had a permanent stay in the motel just down the road, and the bar around the corner was his hideaway. He hustled as much as the owners allowed him to, drank as much as possible without getting completely wasted, and picked up tall lanky college kids every night with the silent prayer that one day his addiction would go away. But when he wasn't sleeping, or drinking, or doing anything at all, he spent the rest of his time stalking Sam, - _no there was no other word for it_ \- he had already made peace in his mind with the fact that he may never get to talk to him again, but making sure he was safe couldn't hurt.

Right?

Right.

He did everything a big brother would - _or perhaps a crazy jealous ex-girlfriend_ \- he found out who all of his friends were, made sure none of them were shape-shifters, or demons, he got as close as he could to him and his life without ever really meeting him or letting him know he was around. _Heck_ , he knew more about that Jessica girl than she did! He knew all about her family -and Sam's- he knew about her brother Theodore Klein Moore, and about all their riches, he also knew about how she'd run off from her childhood home in DC where she'd been raised by her caretaker Ms. Zelma Schmidt. A German missus hired by Mr. Moore to take care of and raise Jessica because her mother was just 'too fragile' to do it herself, and personally Dean thought that was utter bull, the woman had migraines from time to time, and from what he could tell it was just lack of responsibility, or perhaps something else? Dean didn't know, it was all very shady, and everyone in the household detested Mrs. Moore and despised her and her family greatly as if she was worth nothing and couldn't do anything on her own.

He'd paid a visit to the Moore's house a couple times, the first as a waiter/house cleaner - to check for any hex bags, witchcraft, non-accessible rooms, or anything out of the ordinary as well as interrogating the employees to find more information on the Moore's. He served the Moore's silver utensils and poured a little holy water in their drinks, but they were clean- the second time he was an investment's manager - to check out their funds of course, where they went and where they came from - the third as a gardener -to check for any hidden corpses or random spots of dead grass in the two acre land that spread out behind the four story mansion with twelve bedrooms and sixteen baths not including the maid's quarters, pool house and three green houses all owned by the Moore's- as well as the fourth visit as a salesman, to see if he could hook them up with any shady deals, to see if they'd take the bait, but everyone was clean. Everyone, from the family friends and business shareholder to the -actual - gardener, everyone was spotless. It was almost as if they were the perfect dollhouse everyone wanted to live in. It seriously pissed Dean off, there had to be something wrong with them. Anything, he'd settle for _anything_.

Mr. Moore ran one of the largest development companies in the country; Moore and Gibson enterprises, they owned everything from one of the most expensive shopping centers in the country to seven of the most well-ranked hotels in New York. Dean took the time to find out just how the man had gotten so rich or lucky - maybe a crossroad's deal? You never knew- but that was not the case. Malcolm Moore's grand father took care of enhancing financial reporting and controls, improving operating results, information systems capabilities, and the return on capital in multiple industries and was also in ownership of multiple structures that -at it time- were very important. When he'd passed he left his grandson all of his fortune and ownership's, all of the companies and deals he'd made were not to be broken due to said man's death but had a ten-year contract with Malcolm Moore after his grandfathers death. assured. Whatever company you thought of, Malcolm owned it, and he was doing better than just about anyone in the entire country including Canada, -Dean checked-

Jessica's mother’s family had once owned a large chunk of downtown Boston and uptown Manhattan along with sixty-seven different -very high quality- properties along the upper east coast, their wealth was loaned to Marielle when they both passed away, six months apart from each other. Her father died in a car accident and her mother of grief six months later leaving everything to Marielle just barely weeks before another tragedy hit her. Dean knew about her five-year marriage with a man named Charles Delauney (Son of very rich man Robert Delauney in Jersey) that ended abruptly due to both of her children's deaths on the same day. Tragic really, her four-year-old son had fallen into a frozen lake while playing around with other children, and she (five months pregnant with a baby girl at the time) jumped in to save her son but it had been too late, the boy, (Andre Robert Delauney) drowned. Her husband had been drunk and violently enraged when he heard the news he beat Marielle up causing the death of his second unborn child. Marielle and Delauney had divorced and Marielle married Malcolm out of desperation and pure need, she was a beautiful woman, and Malcolm hadn't hesitated in marrying her.

They made a deal, Marielle was to have his children, and Mr. Moore would take care of her. It was really a chilling story and Dean teared up when he found out about it, he knew very well what it was like to lose someone and couldn't imagine all that loss in such a short time. Honestly, he believed she was a strong woman, surviving the death of both her parents, both her children and her husband in just two months must have been violently painful. Hence why he could not believe the 'fragile' statement that multiple servants and employees had told him, but then again, all of the trauma she lived those few months had landed her in a hospital for two years with multiple attempts at suicide, and a severe case of PTSD. So yeah he could understand it.

Theodore or most well known as 'Teddy' was Jessica's older sibling and by far the most preferred. He was your classic rich, snobby, white boy, but many had said he was actually a great kid before the money got to his head and corrupted him. He was a part of Moore and Gibson's Enterprise and shared more than half the fortune with his father. He had overall perfect grades and went to Princeton for 10 years in the aspiration of being a doctor someday, but as soon as he got his degree he randomly changed his mind and he was all about his father's business, probably more interested than his father was, it was an odd change, but Dean suspected it was thanks to the amount of money offered and how much the enterprise had grown during the time he was away.

He and Jessica didn't have a close relationship according to many people, they'd basically been raised in two different worlds, Teddy by his father and Jessica by a nanny, and even though they both lived under the same roof, barely knew anything about each other, or their mother. But even though Teddy was his father's favorite and first born and all that, Jessica was going to be crowned vice president of development and marketing at the Moore Enterprises as soon as she graduated college thanks to her amazing skills with math and her way to convince anyone of giving her whatever she asked for, but she'd refused at first and ran off to Stanford, her father gravely hurt by this act because he was a Princeton man, and every generation before hers was too. She thought of it as some sort of 'screw you' when she went to Stanford, all the way across the country, as far as she could possibly get without crossing country lines, even though she could, but she didn't have it in her. Dean found it odd however when after graduating she'd taken such an interest in her father's company just like her brother. It was just a bit fishy, but he'd been just researching that when Sam had to go and screw it all up with that stupid picture, that he'd tried and failed at finding by the way. God, he hated hiding from him so much, every time he looked at him there was this fire inside him that screamed "Run! Just go towards him and Run! Tell him everything! Tell him how much you miss him!" But he couldn't, he refused to ruin his life like that. Dean was just a miserable speck in Sam's life, Sam had all of the love and care in the world and he didn't need his big brother, he never even knew him.

For years, the longer he looked at him, the harder it grew to be alone, to sleep at night, the constant suffering in his mind that if he just hadn't left that night. if. just _if_. Sammy might have been with him, or he with Sam, he might have been able to grow up with his real family, to get to know his real brother, or grow up to be normal kids together, Dean would have made sure they stayed together. But the dreams were drenched in guilt every time he had them, every time he imagined Sam with him he felt as bad as if he was wishing the very death of him. Dean wouldn't wish his life to the worst of his enemies. But hey! maybe it was better that he'd been adopted, he had a better life, grew up in a normal family, didn't have to worry about the things that went bump in the night, and really that was the best a brother could wish him. _Wasn't it_?

Then why the hell did it feel as if his heart was being ripped out. _Every. Single. Time?_

Sometimes he liked to blame John, blame him for leaving them in that stupid motel room in the first place, for not leaving them enough money or food to survive with, knowing very well Sammy was sick. He had a fever, Dean remembered, it was one of the longest he'd ever had. He'd been sick almost every other month since he was a baby, but this one was by far the worst. It lasted for almost a month, some bug that was going around, his big hazel eyes were always red and gritty, and he couldn't keep his food down, Dean remembered trying to feed him everything they had, but nothing seemed to work. When the boy refused to open his eyes anymore because

"Dee, my head ouchie" he panicked. In an act of desperation, he swaddled the boy in all of the covers the motel provided because he was freezing, and sweating profusely, and ran off to the nearest Quik-Mart to see if he managed to pick pocket any kind of medicine to help him. After spending a full five minutes staring at different types of cough medicine, he simply decided to grab the most colorful one and leave, after all, there wasn't really much an eight-year-old could do or know about how to treat a fever, John sure as hell never taught him any of that. He had been gone for somewhere around fifteen minutes, and when he got back, the place was swarmed with police cars, red and blue lights and a van that had ' Social Services' written on the side. He ducked out of sight and against the wall of the motel because that was what John had taught him to do.

"Cops are always bad news Dean" he had always said. But Sam was in there, and it was their room they were going in. Dean was one hundred percent ready to walk in there and take his brother, but a large hand clasped around his mouth just a millisecond before he could say 'Hey!' and yanked him back and onto John's truck as they sped off onto the highway. No matter how much Dean cried and begged and at one point screamed -which earned him a backhand across the face- John didn't turn around or explain. Just barely days later -under Deans multiple threats of 'I swear I'm going to get out of here and find him'- he gave and told Dean that "Sammy was sick and someone else is going to be taking care of him now" and "We won't be seeing him in a long time"

Dean swore he could still feel the way his heart tore, it was as if someone's sand paper hands with steel nails grabbed his heart and ripped it out through his throat. He could almost hear it, it was like someone grabbed a wet sheet of fabric and just ripped, the tearing sound lodged in his ears over the sound of his pounding heart. He couldn't even scream, or cry he couldn't even breathe over the knot in his throat, it resembled choking around your own lungs or drowning in a pool of your own blood. He doesn't remember the rest of John's stupid excuse, it was too loud in his head, and suddenly so quiet. All he could hear was his heart beat, and he felt extremely light-headed, all of the blood in his body rushed to his feet and the floor swayed from under him. He was pretty sure he fainted after that, but he'd never know, both of them silently agreed to never bring up that day again, and even though he wanted to believe John didn't care and it was all his fault, he knew the man felt guilty, he knew he hated himself for it. The nights he drowned himself in his liquor he talked in his sleep. It was mostly mumbles and chanting in Latin, but sometimes he swore could hear the "I'm so sorry Sammy, please-"

ooOoo

The honk of an eighteen wheeler brought him back to reality

"Fuck!" his eyes snapped back onto the road, swerving violently to his right and missing the truck by mere inches, colliding head on against the trees that lined the highway, one of them crashing into the hood and splitting it in half. The last thing Dean saw was the glass shattering in front of his forehead and Sam's gorgeous face smiling at him just as everything went dark.


End file.
